When I arrive at the marina, the mist is still clinging to the water, making it look like it is steaming. I know from experience that it is anything but. The water in Chesapeake Bay could be warm in the summer, but it still wasn’t exactly the Gulf of Mexico. I am coming to the office out of habit. I don’t have anything pressing. I’m already prepared for my trip to Greece. I’ve done my research, made some initial sketches, and let the marina where I keep my private yacht know that I am coming. The only thing that I haven’t been able to get sorted is Emma.

Everything seemed to have gone very well when I took her sailing. She was laughing, smiling, and seemed to be having a good time all around. We talked late into the night, getting to know each other better and better. I felt like there was a real connection building. Despite the odd nature of the way we met, we seemed to be coming together like a real couple. And she seemed excited by the prospect of going to Greece.

Yet, she said she wouldn’t come. I have to admit I am not happy. I just can’t understand what her reticence is. One minute, we are laughing and talking like we’ve known each other forever, but the next she is guarded. I will have to take it more slowly. It will be worth it, I hope.

Walking along the pathway just above the marina, I hear a group of men talking loudly, too loud for the early morning. I look around the various slips and identify the source. A half-dozen men are aboard an elegant, classic ketch that I didn’t see the last time I was here. When I get closer, I see that Trevor is among them. The men are trying to raise up the mainsail while they are still tied up to the dock. I run down to the dock.

“What the hell are you idiots doing?” I yell as soon as I get into range. All six men drop what they are doing and stare at me. Trevor recognizes me and waves with a broad smile on his face.

“Hey, Blake! Good to see you. We could use a hand getting going.”

“I’ll give you a hand back onto the dock. What do you think you’re doing taking this boat out?”

“Oh, this is Allen’s dad’s new boat. We are going on a little booze cruise.”

The rest of the guys give a loud ‘whoo whoo’ as if they are at a frat party.

“The hell you are. Does anyone on this boat have any sailing experience?”

The one Trevor had pointed out as Allen raises his hand.

“I used to go out with my dad in the summers on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“This is a sixty-foot ketch. It is a serious boat. If none of you have skippered something like this, I can’t let you take her out. And given what I can see so far, there isn’t a drop of salt on board.”

Faces darken. Wealthy scions are not generally accustomed to being told off. But I am certain that if these guys take the boat out by themselves and they start drinking, there is a good chance that the boat doesn’t get back to the marina in one piece. And a boat this beautiful should not be in the hands of such louts.

“Blake, I’ve got a great idea.” Trevor suddenly brightens. “You come and drive the boat! It’ll be great. We are going to pick up some girls on our way out.”

I hesitate for a moment. I’m not exactly looking forward to spending the day with these guys, especially as they start drinking. But at the same time, it is a day out on the water, which is generally better than a day ashore. And this boat is gorgeous with classic, clean lines. It would be good inspiration as I get ready to start on my J-class project.

I get everyone out of the way and get to work. Once I drop the sails and get the old diesel running, I pull the vessel out of the slip and point her to the open Bay. Trevor and his friends have already started drinking. I enjoy a drink and have, on occasion, gotten well and truly drunk, but this early in the morning? That is the sign of a pathology.

But I do my best to ignore the passengers and take on the role of charter boat captain. I’ve never liked taking people sailing. I prefer to sail alone or with a handful of experienced salts, the kind of people who know what to do without being told. With this crowd, I will be lucky if I keep them from screwing anything up too severely. I don’t want to see anything happen to a boat this attractive.

We motor along until we reach another dock where Trevor’s female contingent is waiting to board. They are all beautiful and well-dressed. They are carrying a cooler and several bottles of wine. Whether they have already started imbibing or they are just naturally loud, I cannot tell. I try to block out all the noise and focus on sailing, but it is a challenge. Once we are out in the Bay, the wind picks up a bit and I raise up the sails and shut down the engine. We glide forward, gracefully cutting through the choppy, wind-driven waves.

The wind keeps steady as the sun rises higher, warming the air and encouraging the passengers to start stripping off layers of clothing. Someone takes out a set of portable speakers and puts on music. Soon there is a half-naked dance party on deck. I check the trim of the mizzen sail; a ketch has two masts – main in front and mizzen behind – and keep my eyes on the horizon.

“Hey, man, thanks for taking us out. Do you want a beer or something?” Trevor asks, standing above me on the top of the cabin. He is leaning against the mizzen boom, the horizontal piece that holds the bottom of the sail.

“No thanks, I don’t drink when we’re underway.”

Trevor blows a raspberry. “Lame. It’s not like there is a bunch of traffic out here. You can have one beer. Come on.”

I have never understood why drunk people find it so difficult to be around sober people. I have no problem understanding why it is annoying for a sober person to be around a bunch of drunks, though.

“No, it’s a rule of mine.”

“You know, Blake, you can be fun if you try. You don’t have to be such a buttoned-up tight-ass all the time. Like the other night, you were a fucking boss at the auction.”

I look up sharply at him.

“Let’s not talk about that, ok? I would prefer that stay just between us.”

“Whatever, dude, whatever you say,” Trevor says, as if it is of no consequence if that kind of thing were to be common knowledge. I suppose for him it would be no consequence. Nothing ever is.

“By the way,” he continues, “how was that girl? She was pretty hot, in a kind of conventional sort of way. Did you ever see her afterward?”

I arch my eyebrow at him. “Are you serious? You know I was going out with her again. You went to tell her I had to miss our date.”

Trevor’s face is blank. It is like I can see one of those spinning icons on a computer when it is stuck in a loop.

“I had to come to the marina to fix Ted Gordon’s boat, I dropped my phone in the water, and didn’t have her number. You said you would go explain the situation to her.” My voice gets tighter as I start to realize what happened, or rather, what didn’t.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, dude. I was going to go, but something came up.”

“Are you kidding me? Trevor, I ask you for one thing, to be reliable for one hour, tops. And you can’t even tell me that you screwed up?” The rest of the party has started to look over to see what is going on.

“Come on, bro. What’s the big deal? Oh, is she mad at you? Who gives a shit? Tell you what, I will go halfsies with you on another girl next month.”

I am so angry I can’t even form words.

“Dude, are you mad? She wasn’t even that hot.”

In an instant, I lose my temper. I spin the wheel to the right, pulling the boat quickly around so the wind shifts across the stern in a gybe. The boom whips from left to right as the wind fills it quickly from the other side. It launches Trevor clear off of the boat and into the water. Without looking, I throw the floatation ring overboard and start to turn around to pick him up.